


The (n+2)th night

by dannywrites



Series: The nth guest [2]
Category: Gregory Horror Show
Genre: Gen, M/M, how to mop properly: the fic, woo hoo here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannywrites/pseuds/dannywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guest Boy begins his first day with Hell's Chef, but not without James being, well, James.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (n+2)th night

**Author's Note:**

> *updates while no one kudos or comments* alrighty then
> 
> make sure to leave kudos and comments! later!

“Get out.”

“But I want candy! Tell me where it is, mister, or else I’ll tell great-grandma!”

“Too much candy is bad for children. Leave.”

“Aww…”

“I said get—DON’T TOUCH THAT.”

“Hey grandpa, check out this sweet sword! Ha ha…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The hall to the kitchen was plagued by rapid footsteps and laughter as the guest passed through it anxiously. The guest’s fears peaked when he spied James running towards him down the hall, the hotel lights gleaming off the huge knife in James’ hands. The guest sucked in his gut fast before pressing himself against the peeling walls, watching James zoom by. He barely had time to relax before Hell’s Chef sprinted in the same direction as the young rat.

“Give it back _now_.” Hell’s Chef said, his gruff tone louder than usual. The guest practically shook as he carefully followed the chase, keeping a safe distance until the coast was clear.

Hell’s Chef put an end to it by catching the rat on a corner, grabbing the handle of the knife and yanking it out from James’ grasp. James tried to jump up for the “sword” but gave up when he saw him shoulder the weapon and briskly turn on his heel without a word. Hell’s Chef walked past the guest wordlessly, and the guest spoke up hesitantly.

“’Scuse me, uh, mister Hell’s Chef, but Gregory told me that you needed some help in the kitchen?” Hell’s Chef stopped in his tracks and turned to Guest Boy. His glowing eyes blinked for a moment before examining the guest top to bottom. The chef’s silence was oppressive; the guest wanted to leave but the chef’s menacing eyes and enormous knife recommended that he wait for whatever the chef had to say.

“Come with me.” The chef spoke so suddenly that the guest barely had enough wits to keep up with the chef after he started down the hall again. The guest’s eyes perked up and he broke into a half-jog before catching up with Hell’s Chef. He stayed behind him and made sure not to trigger any incidents that involved the chef’s huge blade.

The guest noticed how easily the straight edge of the blade fit on his shoulder, how weathered the blade’s handle was between the chef’s fingers. It made for an easy distraction as they traversed the seemingly endless halls and stairwells. They finally came to a metal, bolted door that swung both ways and the two went inside.

“Uh oh,” the guest said as he took in the chaos that was the kitchen. James had done a number on the kitchen: flour spilled on the ground, eggs cracked while still in the carton, dozens of spices in heaps on the floor, and more carnage that the guest couldn’t even place. The chef huffed before bringing his fingers together to crack them. He directed the guest to the cleaning supplies in the corner of the kitchen. “A good chef cannot work under such terrible conditions. Start with the flour on the tables and on the ground.” Hell’s Chef commanded, nodding towards the mop, bucket, and rags. He made for the pantry, probably in hopes of salvaging whatever spices he had left. The guest began his work by taking up the mop.

Cleaning the floor was simple enough for Guest Boy at first, but when he was more than halfway done, Hell’s Chef stopped him. “You cannot just push the mop around. If you do that, you only spread the flour thinner.” The chef took the mop from the guest boy and mopped up a dirty corner of the floor. In a minute, the corner looked cleaner than any part of the floor that the guest had cleaned. He expected some sort of punishment, but was only given back the mop with a brisk, “Now you try”.

Another minute passed and when the guest looked over his shoulder for approval, Hell’s Chef nodded with a firm, “Good.” The chef went back to organizing the kitchen while the guest continued his work. The brief, measured actions of the chef spoke measures of how long the chef had been around to the guest. Guest Boy idly wondered about the chef’s experiences as he continued his work, growing a strange sort of respect for the entity. He made sure to repeat the same tip on the metal tables, the counters, and even the pantry door. The chef’s words echoed in his mind; they weren’t the most enjoyable thoughts, but ones that helped him finish up quickly.

“All done, sir,” the guest said, arms aching from the work. He was infinitely glad for the ache in his bones; it gave him a sense of accomplishment, like he had done something of merit since he came to this hell hole (the hotel, not the kitchen that is). The ache felt strange and misplaced though, like he was supposed to be working on something else. The chef’s words took him out of his thoughts.

“I can take care of the rest. Come back tomorrow.” The guest nodded and left the kitchen with haste, navigating the same halls and stairwells back to his own room.

Regardless of how dangerous the chef was, the guest boy decided that having something to do was still worth the risk he posed to his safety (for now, at least).


End file.
